Lunch at the Pentagon
by djenie
Summary: It's a couple of years after the end of the series. A chance meeting. An invitation for lunch. Awkwardness... Rating changed to T!
1. Chapter 1

**LUNCH AT THE PENTAGON**

"Carter?" O'Neill asked. "What'cha thinkin'?

She'd been sitting there, silent, playing with her food, for too long. He was decidedly uncomfortable. Squirmy—that's how he felt. As if he didn't belong... here... with her.

It had been fine at first. They'd been happy to see each other—well, he was happy to see her, for sure, and she'd greeted him with a big smile, so he assumed it was mutual. There'd even been a really nice long hug, kisses on cheeks. He let his thoughts linger on that embrace, how good she had felt there in his arms. Not too intimate—no, not intimate at all, really. Two good friends, teammates, greeting each other after so long. Wow, how long _had _it been? He counted in his head. Sixteen months. Before he received his third star, before she was put in charge of the Odyssey Program, designed to equip all ships with the Asgaard weapons and Atlantis technology. Could it really have been that long? Sixteen months since they'd seen each other in person. There'd been some phone calls, a few emails. But they tapered off. Before long there were only official communications—nothing personal. Did she still like blue jello? Had the broken wrist bone healed completely? Was she dating anyone? McKay? _If she is dating, please God don't let it be McKay!_ She looked good. Yeah, she looked really good. Well, when had Carter _not_ looked good, after all?! Her hair was much longer, and she was wearing it pulled back off her face and plaited into an elegant French braid. She had on more make-up than in the past, too. Very tasteful, very striking. _God, how unbelievably good she looks! _ He couldn't keep his eyes off of her face. The big blue eyes hadn't changed, although she wasn't looking directly at him—since the first widening of surprised greeting and pleasure, she had avoided meeting his eyes except for very brief flickers. Was it because he had changed? He knew he looked older, thinner—okay, almost gaunt—with much deeper creases in his cheeks where those faint dimples used to be. He could see all that when he looked in the mirror every morning. The whiskers he shaved off each day were white. Yep, he was a lot grayer—not just his hair and beard, his eyebrows, too, and his skin sometimes seemed to have a grayish cast—really pale, from spending most of his time indoors for the past sixteen months. Sixteen months. There was that number again. He'd had two birthdays since he saw her last. The latest one, two weeks ago, had been the fifty-seventh. Ah well, he wouldn't dwell on that... Certainly not while he had Carter here to look at. He wondered what she was thinking about—probably the latest alien technology or new star drive... Had it really been twelve years since that first meeting in the SGC briefing room?

**oxo**

"What'cha thinkin'?"

His softly spoken question echoed in her mind. How to ever explain what she was thinking? She was thinking how great it was to be sitting here with him; how much she had missed him; how she wanted to touch him—run her palm down his cheek, get her fingers in his hair. What was she thinking? She was thinking the same things she'd always thought about whenever she looked at him! From the very beginning she'd wanted to touch him... She was remembering the times she _really_ touched him—the passionate kisses when they had the Broca virus, the mind stamp with Jonah and Thera... and the other, more appropriate times, when he hugged her, held her, carried her when she was hurt. God it was all about touch, wasn't it? The need to lay your hand, your skin, your body against another person—_the_ other person. She looked at her plate, at the waiter, the pictures on the wall—anything but his eyes; those deep, dark brown eyes that made her heart melt, made her feel heat all the way down to her toes. She was afraid to look into his eyes, afraid she would not be able to resist throwing herself into his arms... Their greeting embrace had nearly unglued her, her body feeling that it was where it belonged for the first time in so very long. Moving apart, separating to opposite sides of the table, had felt like a journey of a million light years. She would have stood there forever if he'd only keep his arms wrapped around her. He was watching her now, and that made her self-conscious. It was because she was different, she thought—the more severe hairstyle was not flattering, and she had on too much makeup. In her rush this morning she hadn't done a very good job. As it was she was nearly late for the meeting at the Defense Department. They were pushing for the new ship construction, but she did not feel that the kinks were all worked out of the design. She'd gotten into a heated discussion with the Deputy Secretary, and by the time the meeting broke up she was irritated and flustered. And then in the corridor she'd run headlong into General O'Neill as they both rounded a corner too fast. He grabbed her to keep her from falling, and she knew it was him even before she raised her head and saw his face. A look of delight had illuminated his features as he recognized her at the same time, and he said her name—"Sam!"—with a special note of joy which made her heart leap. But it was back to 'Carter' now as they sat across from one another in the very swank Pentagon restaurant where he'd invited her for lunch.

**oxo**

"I'm thinking it's been a long time since I last saw you, sir," she said, answering his question—kicking herself mentally for having nothing better than that to offer!

"Yes. Yes." He nodded sagely. "It has been quite a while." _Crap, you idiot! She must think you're a jackass! _

"Sixteen months," she added. _I can't believe I've been counting._

"That long?" he said. _She's been counting, too! _

"Just before we started the Odyssey Project," she muttered. _Why am I perpetuating this topic of conversation?!_

The waiter came over and asked if they would like dessert.

"No, thanks," she said.

"What have you got?" he said simultaneously.

The waiter ran through a list. And as he named certain items, they both smiled.

"She'll have the blue-raspberry jello parfait," Jack said.

"And he'll have the double fudge chocolate-swirl cake," Sam added.

And then they looked at each other and laughed as the waiter hurried away to get their order.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey! Thank you for all the nice reviews! I really appreciate them. This isn't going to be a long, serious story, just something I thought would be fun to write. Three or four shortish chapters, maybe. **

"What's on for your afternoon?" Jack asked as they emerged into the wide corridor outside the dining room.

Sam glanced at her watch. "The meeting at the DOD resumes in half an hour, sir." She chuckled. "I hope I can find the meeting room again."

He smiled. "I'll show you the way."

"I don't want to take you away from your work..."

"I'm supposed to be there, too, Carter," he said.

"Oh. But not this morning?"

"Got called away by someone with more clout." When she raised an eyebrow, he added; "The President herself."

"Oh." Different tone. "Well, sir, all you missed was me and the Deputy Secretary having a bit of an argument."

"Ross? It's easy to argue with Ross. What are you doing after the meeting?"

"Going back to my hotel?"

"Or you could come to my house for dinner," he suggested.

"Thai takeout?"

He laughed. "Only if that's what you want. Or I can throw a steak on the grill. I also know a few good restaurants around my part of town if you'd like that."

"Would it be okay if we didn't go out, sir? This has already been a stressful day, and I don't expect the afternoon to be any better."

"That's fine with me, Carter. But, don't worry about this afternoon; I'll be there to watch your back."

She smiled that million dollar smile, and for a moment all he could do was stare.

**sjsjsj**

By the end of the meeting she was thoroughly pissed. Jack actually had to take her arm and compel her out of the meeting room.

"He's an ass! Sir!" she hissed.

"Yep," he agreed, moving her down the corridor and away from the source of her anger.

"The next generation of ship designs aren't ready for implementation!"

"That's right. Don't worry, it won't happen until they _are_ ready. There's lots of ways to see to that."

She looked up into his face. "When did you become a... an 'operator,' sir?"

He grinned at her, that O'Neill grin that she loved, and she felt her anger melt away. "Strange things happen here, Carter. Even I have to... play the game now and then. If the cause is good enough. Let's get out of here," he said.

"Okay." She nodded. "I need to go to the hotel and get some comfortable clothes." She'd been in her dress blues all day, and felt like she was strangling.

"Which hotel?"

"Ritz-Carlton, sir. Right down the road."

"Okay," he said.

**jsjsjs**

He stood and looked out the window of her hotel room, while she dressed behind the bathroom door. She wondered wryly why she was hiding herself when he showed no signs of even wanting to peek. He merely stood relaxed with his back to the room, shoulders slightly slumped; his uniform jacket was bunched up where his hands were in his trouser pockets, and his hair mussed from when he removed his cover and tossed it on the bed. There was no tension that she could see in his body language, he apparently wasn't nervous about being in her room.

Sam sighed and dressed quickly, dismissing a sort of wishful-thinking half plan of enticing him into... hmmm. Well, never mind that.

It was just that he looked so _good! _ Even at the end of a full work day, he looked like a million dollars! _Samantha, put a lid on it! But it's been so long..._

Jack was not really seeing the view out the window. He was picturing Carter's flushed face and flashing eyes as she engaged in a heated exchange with Deputy Secretary Gerald Ross an hour ago. She was gorgeous! And he expected even that marionette Ross was impressed. But more important, what she'd said made sense, and the stupid jackass just refused to see it. Even with General Vidrine and Jack on her side, they'd come away with a poor compromise—five extra months to perfect the designs, instead of the eighteen they really needed. Jack was confident he could manage to delay the deadline by several more months, but Carter was not a happy camper.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets; the posture was part of the unflappable facade he'd perfected since being in Washington. It never was a good thing for the adversary to think you were rattled; by now it was second nature, and like now, he barely thought about it.

It had been great to be in her company for the last five hours, but he'd lost count of just how many times she'd called him 'sir' in those hours. In the meeting, of course, he expected it, but at lunch, and after the meeting, and in his car on the way to her hotel, and even since they'd arrived in her room. Thirty or forty 'sirs'? Each one a brick in the wall between them...

"Sir..." He almost flinched at the sound of the word. "I'm ready," she said.

In the two seconds it took him to turn and face her, he had reacquired that characteristic crooked grin. "Hey, you look great, Carter!"

She had on an electric blue top which turned her eyes into something awesome, and a pair of tailored tan pants which accentuated her long legs, and looked comfortable at the same time. She'd taken her hair down and it fell in blonde waves just past her shoulders. It was a wonder that he could speak at all.

"Thank you, sir," she said, returning the smile.

Another brick.

"Okay!" Jack cleared his throat and rubbed a hand through his hair. He stepped across the room, picking up his hat as he passed the bed. "Shall we go?"

She nodded and grabbed a tan jacket, and her purse off of the chair. "Yes, sir."

_Ouch! Three in a row! _ He opened the door for her and they walked out into the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks again for the reviews, and the favorites and follows! I appreciate them all!**

Jack cleared his throat and rubbed a hand through his hair. "Shall we go?"

Sam nodded and grabbed a tan jacket, and her purse off of the chair. "Yes, sir."

_Ouch! Three 'sirs' in a row!_

He opened the door for her and they walked out into the hall.

The trip down in the hotel elevator was silent, and they waited a few minutes at the front door until his car pulled up. The car was a dark blue, unmarked SUV. Jack refused to be driven around in a limo—that was just too pretentious!—but he sure didn't mind letting someone else handle the DC traffic. Usually he rode up front with his driver, Lt. Collins, but today he got in back with Carter.

"Take us to my house, please, Collins," he instructed the lieutenant. "And then you can take off for the night."

"Thank you, General," Collins said over his shoulder. "The usual time tomorrow morning?"

"Yes, please," Jack replied. "I have an eight o'clock."

Collins pulled the car into traffic and after a few turns, merged onto the George Washington Parkway, heading south.

The ride took thirty minutes, through heavy traffic. "Rush hour," Jack complained. "Only takes about fifteen in the middle of the day." When they left the highway, Sam saw a sign for Alexandria. They made their way through the city for several blocks and finally turned onto a street of older brick row houses. Across from them was a park, and beyond that, the water. "The Potomac," Jack said.

They stood on the sidewalk in the fading light and Sam could see the lights coming on along the water. "It's very nice here," she said.

"I was lucky to get it." Jack took out his key and fitted it in the lock.

**sjsjsj**

His house was two floors, not very wide, but reaching the depth of the building. Downstairs was a large open area, living room in front, kitchen and dining at the rear. Halfway along, a spiral staircase led up to the second floor. "Two bedrooms and a bath up there," was Jack's brief description. He also pointed out a half bath beside the kitchen, and she went in to freshen up.

When she came out he had shed his uniform jacket and hat, and was washing his hands at the sink. "There's cold beer in the fridge."

Sam pulled open the refrigerator door. "There's real food in here," she said in a shocked voice, staring into that appliance. "I see vegetables! What happened?"

Jack reached over her shoulder and grabbed a beer from the shelf. "Aww.. that's just Miranda. She does most of the shopping for me. Thinks if she fills it with enough green stuff sooner or later I'll break down and eat it." He twisted the top off the beer bottle, and headed out of the kitchen. "Help yourself to something to drink." His voice floated back as he climbed the stairs. "There's wine in there, too, and even some of the hard stuff in the left-hand cupboard. I'm gonna change my clothes."

_Miranda? _ Sam barely heard most of what he'd said. She was frozen, stuck at his casual utterance of the name. _Who's Miranda? _Pain lanced through her heart. _A _g_irlfriend? My God, he's got a girlfriend! Miranda...she shops for him! Maybe she lives here... with him? No—he wouldn't have invited me over without mentioning her if she lived here. Would he?_

_Where is she? _Sam stared around the kitchen as if the mystery woman might pop out of a cupboard at any moment. _Maybe she's working...maybe she'll be home later. What do I do? I should leave... I'll write him a note and get out of here. _

She looked for something to write on. Found nothing. Started opening cupboards, looking for paper. In the third cupboard she found the bottle of Glenlivet. Without hesitation she reached up and took it down, found a glass and poured a generous portion. She gulped down half of it. It made her choke and cough, but she regained control after a minute and finished the glass. She tipped the bottle and poured some more. Within a few minutes she began to feel the heat, the buzz...

"Sam?"

The soft question spun her around. Jack was standing beside the counter, a puzzled look on his face. He had changed into slacks and a polo shirt. He came toward her. "It's usually better to take that slow," he said with a smile, indicating her glass.

"Yeah, I suppose so," she admitted, blinking at him stupidly. She tried to smile. "It's good stuff..." She felt herself wobble a little.

He steadied her with a hand on her lower back. "Yes, it is." He set his empty beer bottle on the counter and got a cold one. "You wanna to come sit down? We can decide what to have for dinner."

"Okay." she agreed. She was beginning to feel better now, suffused with the whiskey's warmth, floaty, the panic had receded. He took her arm and they turned toward the living room.

They sat down on the couch together. He drank his beer and she sipped the whiskey.

"So, what shall we eat?" Jack asked after a while. "I've got steaks I can put on the grill—there's salad makin's, as you noticed." He smirked. "Or we can call for takeout. What's your pleasure?"

"Is anybody else going to be here?" she asked.

"What?" he said, frowning.

"Anyone else coming home for dinner?" She took another swallow of her drink.

"Uh...no," he said. "I'm not expecting anyone else." He narrowed his eyes. "Sam?"

"What about Miranda?" she asked.

"Miranda? Why would Miranda come to dinner?" He was getting confused. What was going on here?

"Then she doesn't live here..."

"Live here?!" he exclaimed. "No, of course not. What gave you that idea?"

She ducked her head in embarrassment. "You said she shops for you," she mumbled.

"Yeah. Sometimes. She's the kind who likes to mother people, you know. Thinks I don't eat properly and all that. So she buys groceries for me."

"She's a friend of yours, then..." Sam couldn't look at him, she was staring down into her nearly empty glass.

"Yeah," He was still trying to figure out what she was getting at. "We're friendly. She's here twice a week, after all. Usually, I'm not here, of course. She's a very nice lady."

Sam was thoroughly confused by now, too. _Not here when Miranda was here?_ She got up and headed back to the kitchen, refilled her glass.

"Hey, take it easy on that stuff," Jack said from behind her, in a worried voice.

"There's plenty left." She waved a hand, downed her drink.

"I don't care about that," he said. "You're drinking it too fast on an empty stomach. What's wrong, Sam?"

"Nothing... nothing. I just don't want to be in the way..."

"Sam!" He grabbed her by the shoulders, turned her to face him. "In the way of what? What's wrong? I have no idea what you're talking about!"

Sam tried to pull away, but he held on, and wouldn't let her go. "I don't want to be in _your_ way..." After a few minutes she stopped resisting, and leaned against his chest. "I think I drank that too fast," she muttered, her voice unsteady.

He refrained from commenting. "Come back and sit down, and tell me what's wrong."

He led her back over to the couch. Beside the coffee table, she stubbed her toe on something. "Ow...what was that?" She reached down unsteadily—he held onto her and pulled her back up—and came up with a toy fire engine. She stared at it for a moment. "You playing with toy trucks, now, Jack?"

He grinned. It was the first time she'd called him Jack. "No. The truck belongs to Max."

"Max... Who's Max?" Another mystery person.

"Max is Miranda's grandson. He's four. Sometimes she brings him here with her when she's cleaning."

"Cleaning..." she repeated stupidly.

"Yes," Jack said. He was starting to grin because he thought he knew what this was all about. "Miranda is my cleaning lady. Miranda Escobar. A sweet lady who does an excellent job."

"Oh." Sam sat down on the couch, still holding the fire engine. After a moment she set it on the coffee table. "So, not a girlfriend," she said in a small voice.

He sat down beside her. "Not a girlfriend," he confirmed. "Miranda has a husband, Diego, who she's been married to for nearly thirty years. They have six children and a bunch of grandchildren. And they're very happy. So not available as a girlfriend—although she's attractive and very nice." He held back his amusement.

"I'm sorry," she said after a bit.

"For what?" he asked. "For thinking I might have a girlfriend? I'm flattered you think a woman would be interested in me."

"Are you kidding?" she said, definitely feeling the whiskey now. "Women drool over you! Sir!" she added.

Jack was truly surprised, but his humor triumphed. "And yet _you _call me 'sir'," he said.

"I'm just a little higher on the evy- eveylution-ary scale," she said with dignity.

He snorted. "Really? No drooling, huh?"

"Nope." She shook her head. Their eyes met for a long moment. "Well, not much..." she whispered. His eyes always turned her into a puddle of goo. "I was jealous," she couldn't seem to stop herself from confessing. "I thought she was your girlfriend. Do you have a girlfriend, Jack?"

He shook his head. "No. There's no time for girlfriends with this job. I've taken one or two ladies out to official functions, but that's as far as it went." He tipped his head to the side and looked down into her face. "That could change, though. For the right person."

"Really?" she whispered. "You have somebody in mind?"

"Mmm...maybe. Wanna explore the possibilities?"

"Maybe..." she responded.

He leaned down and touched her lips lightly with his, pulled her closer and gently fitted his mouth to her. She sighed and slipped her arms around his neck, burying her fingers in his hair; he deepened the kiss, and she groaned, moving her body toward his...

The doorbell rang.

He raised his head, blinked once and stared toward the front door.

"Ignore it," Sam said and pulled his mouth down to hers again. _Now that she had her hands on him, she didn't plan to let go. She was waay past drooling!_

Twice more the bell rang. Jack barely heard it. _Carter was kissing him!_

He registered the sound of a key turning in the lock, and the door opening. He pulled away from Sam's kiss, just as a small child came rushing into the room.

**I think I can wind it up with one more chapter after this. After all, I only rated it K+, can't go too far.**

**Hope you enjoyed it!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed and followed this story! I have had fun writing it. I hope the ending is up to your expectations.**

**Okay—please note that I raised the rating to T. Nothing graphic, mind you, just some heavy breathing! And one swear word. (If you want more, I have a story out there called "Runaway Star" that's a little sexier. Not finished yet, unfortunately, but not forgotten.)**

**xxxxxxx**

Jack registered the sound of a key turning in the lock, and the door opening. He pulled away from Sam's kiss, just as a small child came rushing into the room.

"General Jack!" the little boy cried, and made a beeline for the couch.

"Max!" a woman's voice called. "Come back here!"

But by now Max had reached the couch and thrown himself at Jack, who caught him handily.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, General Jack! Max, get back here!" the woman was saying as she came a few steps into the house. "I thought you were not home. You did not answer... Max, come here!"

Jack stood up, grinning, with the child in his arms. "It's fine, Miranda. He's okay. How're you doin', buddy?" he said to the boy. "Long time no see. I missed ya."

The woman was small and slightly plump, younger than Sam had expected, probably no more than five or six years older than herself. Miranda's thick, silver- shot black hair was pulled back into a loose coil. She had sparkling black eyes and her full lips were starting to form a smile as she watched her employer and her grandson greet each other. She said something softly in Spanish—Sam was pretty rusty in that language, but she thought it translated as 'sweet boys'—and then she registered Sam's presence, and was suddenly wary.

"Max, behave yourself now," she said sternly in Spanish. And then in English. "I'm sorry, senora. I thought the house was empty." An embarrassed flush was spreading across her face.

Sam smiled at her. "It's fine," she assured the other woman. "Nobody answered the door—what were you supposed to think?" She reached over and picked up the toy fire engine from the table, held it up where the boy could see it. "I'll bet this is what you're looking for."

Max smiled broadly. "Carro de bomberos!" he cried, reaching for it.

"English, Maxi," his grandmother reminded softly.

"Fire engine," he corrected himself at once. Jack lowered him enough so he could take the toy from Sam's hand.

"What do you say?" Miranda urged.

"Thank you, senora," Max told Sam earnestly.

"You're welcome, Max," she replied. "It's a very nice fire engine."

"Mi abuelo..." the boy began, then glanced at his grandmother. "My grandfather gave it to me."

"I am so sorry we disturbed you, General Jack," Miranda apologized again. "Come on, Max. You have your truck. Get down now so we can go."

Reluctantly the little boy let his grandmother take him from Jack's arms. "Can we come back again soon, General Jack?" he asked.

"Of course you can. How about this—I'll talk to your grandmother later and we'll make a date to go see the pandas!"

Max's face lit up in a huge grin.

"That's so kind," Miranda said. "But we don't want to be a bother..."

Jack waved a finger at her. "Uh-uh-uh. Never a bother when it comes to Max. We'll do it soon, before the weather changes."

"Thank you," Miranda said. She turned to Sam. "And I apologize again for disturbing you, senora."

"Don't mention it," Sam assured her. "It was a pleasure to meet you, and Max."

Jack walked the two of them to the door, where Max hugged his leg before taking Miranda's hand. He looked back and grinned at Sam as they left. Jack locked the door and returned to the couch.

"So that's Miranda," Sam said. Jack nodded. "Max is a cutie," she added.

Jack leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Mmm...hmm..." he said. He lifted her hair and nuzzled the skin under her ear.

She closed her eyes and shivered pleasurably. "She called you and Max 'sweet boys'," she murmured dreamily.

He drew back and looked at her. "What? She _what_?"

She bit her lip, dismayed that he had stopped what he was doing. "She called you sweet boys." At his frown, she added defensively, "Well, it _was _sweet, the way you were... you know, hugging him... and he really looked happy to be with you..." she trailed off.

His eyebrows went up. "_You_ think it was sweet?"

She was just a little drunk, and her defenses were down from their kisses earlier—otherwise she'd have probably been a bit more careful of what she said. "I've always thought it was sweet—the way you interact with kids. You really understand them, and they love you for it. It's one of the things I've always loved about you, too..." Her brain finally caught up with her tongue and she stuttered to a halt, blushing. He was staring at her with a bemused look on his face, and she thought, _How the hell can that possibly be a surprise to you?_ She only realized she'd said it out loud when his eyes crinkled and he started to laugh softly.

They stared at each other for long moments, and gradually his laughter faded, to be replaced by a look she'd never seen on his face before—warm and gentle and unguarded. "You love me?"

She nodded. "I love you, Jack."

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her eyes and the corners of her mouth. "I love you, too," he whispered, and then found her lips fully with his in absolutely the best and most powerful kiss she had ever imagined—let alone experienced...

_Ohmigod! _Sam thought. Her mind was going blank and her body was singing so loud and so sweetly, and the kiss was the most wonderful thing in the universe, and, like Buttercup, she was certain that she could fly... _Oh, yeah—light-years beyond drooling!_

They clutched at each other, and Jack sort of fell over backwards along the length of the couch, pulling her with him, until she lay mostly on top of him, their arms wrapped around one another and their legs tangled.

Jack decided he was dreaming... He couldn't possibly be sitting here on his couch—well, more like sprawling!—kissing Carter, the woman he had loved for _God! __how__ many years?!,_ **Who had just said she loved **_**him!**_**, **who had her arms around him and was kissing him back with enough passion to rock his soul... No, it couldn't be real, but it felt like the real thing, so much so that he tightened his grip on her, just in case...

Carefully he opened one eye. _She was still there!_ He closed it again and went back to kissing her.

Oxygen deprivation finally forced them apart a few inches. Neither of them said anything, just gazed into the other's eyes. She stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers, feeling the light scratchiness of his late-day beard. He ran his thumb along her lower lip, and his hand froze when the tip of her tongue emerged and licked the pad. He sucked in a breath and his eyes dilated...

From the coffee table, the intrusive buzz of his cell phone shattered the moment.

Jack stared into Sam's eyes for another beat, then shook his head to clear it, reached over and picked up the phone. He looked at the caller ID and groaned. "Sorry, I gotta take this."

She made to move away, but he pulled her tight against him and held her there.

"O'Neill."

Sam could hear a woman's voice almost in her own ear. "Good evening, General. This is Amy Taggart, President Allen's appointments secretary."

"Yes, Ms. Taggart. What can I do for you?"

"The President would like to see you again tomorrow morning, General. It's regarding the same subject you discussed today. I've put you down for 8:45 in the Oval Office."

"I don't suppose it'll do any good to say I have a previous engagement," he said wryly.

There was a suppressed chuckle on the line. "Now, General. Don't be difficult."

He rolled his eyes. "I'll be there."

"Thank you, sir. Have a good evening."

"Good night, Ms. Taggart." He switched off the phone and dropped it on the floor beside the couch. "Now... Where were we?" he asked.

"Right here, I guess." She laid her forearm on his chest, and raised her head so she could look into his face. "Do we need to talk about this?"

"Do we have to? The other was a lot more fun."

She smiled. "Oh, Jack." She backed away, and sat up at the end of the couch.

"Yeah. Okay. But you know how I am with the whole 'talk' thing." He pulled himself up to sit beside her. "Besides, I'm not sure what there is to say. I love you. And evidently you're addled enough to think you love me—but hey, I'll take it," he teased when she started to speak. He took her hand in his. "How long do we have, anyway? When do you have to go back?"

"I have a couple more meetings tomorrow. I was planning to fly back tomorrow night. There's a lot I could be doing to prepare for sessions with the ship designers next week." She hesitated, hating the disappointment in his eyes that he was trying not to show. "But it _is _the weekend and technically I'm free..."

"Change your reservation," he pleaded quickly, catching her hand in both of his. "Stay with me until Sunday." He brought her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across her knuckles, then turned it over and kissed the palm. "It'll give us some time together, to explore this... figure out what happens next. We'll have the weekend—no one to bother us, no interruptions. We can stay here, or take a long drive. Sam, we need to just _be_ together. To get to know each other..." He stopped because she was staring at him in astonishment. "What? If you don't like that, then we can find something else..."

"No! No, I love it! That's a pretty amazing speech from the man who doesn't do 'talk'." She smiled. "Okay. I'll rebook for Sunday around noon. That'll give me enough prep time for Monday."

"That's great!" He grinned widely and started to take her in his arms again.

And the doorbell rang.

The both froze and turned to stare at the front door.

It rang again.

"Now what?!" Jack demanded.

The person outside pressed his finger on the bell and held it there for a long series of rings.

"Impatient, too," Sam said.

"Jack!" a voice called. "Are you in there? Open Up!"

Daniel?

"Come on, Jack! I forgot my key!"

Sam looked at Jack. "Daniel has a key to your house?"

"He comes to DC for conferences and stuff now and then. I told him he could stay here anytime." He sighed deeply. "He usually warns me, though."

"Did you check your messages when you got home?"

The doorbell began another spate of constant ringing.

Sam got up from the couch and headed for the door.

"Hey!" Jack called.

"Might as well let him in," she pointed out. "He's not gonna stop."

"Hi!" Daniel began as the door opened. "I hope you weren't sleeping... Sam!" he exclaimed at the sight of the person standing there.

"Daniel!" she replied.

"What are you doing here?" he said.

"Not sleeping." She grinned.

Jack appeared behind her shoulder. "Come on in, Daniel."

"Um... hi, Jack. Yeah, thanks..." Daniel stepped into the room and dropped the duffle he'd been holding. "Sam, you look great! It's been a while." He enveloped her in a hug.

"You look pretty good yourself," she said, hugging him back.

"So what are _you_ doing here?" Jack asked.

"Lecture at GWU. Did I forget to email you? Sorry about that." Daniel made a 'sort of sorry, but not really' face. "The lecture is tomorrow night. But I took off until Sunday. Figured you and I could catch up. You must have _some _free time on the weekend. Course, with Sam here we can have some real quality 'team time'! Too bad Teal'c is on Chulak—it would be great if he were around, too!"

"Yeah, too bad Teal'c's not here, too," Jack said, smirking. "Are we _sure_ he's offworld?"

"As far as I know, he's been gone for a couple of weeks. Meetings of the Jaffa Free Nation Council. So where do you want me to sleep? I'll be glad to take the couch—I assume Sam's in the guest room..." Daniel bent down to pick up the bag.

Sam and Jack looked at each other over Daniel's head and started to laugh.

And then suddenly it was all okay. They didn't need to analyze what was between them. They loved each other, that was what mattered. Jack had loved Sam for so long, he couldn't remember what it felt like not to. And she loved him _because_ he was Jack—good, honorable, snarky, loving _and sexy_.

The 'talk thing' was definitely overrated!

-finis-

**xxxxxxxx**

**It got a little longer than I intended, but there it is! Many, many thanks to PatriciaS for mentioning Daniel and timing in the same sentence—after that how could I resist!**

**And thanks to everyone who stuck with it til the end! Hope you enjoyed it.**

**Oh, in case you wondered who Buttercup is supposed to be, think The Princess Bride;**

**-Westley to Buttercup after their tumble down the hill: Can you move at all?**

**-Buttercup: Move? You're alive! If you want, I can fly.**


End file.
